Last Words
by donttouchtheotter
Summary: "If you were being murdered, if you were dying, in your last moments, what would you say?" "Please god, let me live." John Watson doesn't have to think about his last words, he has already lived them once.


Last words:

(Minor trigger warning, blood and death :)

"John!" he screamed and I could hear him. I could actually hear him through the spray of the bullets that seemed to be bouncing around me, I could hear his cries.

Desperate was all that could describe how he sounded to me in that moment. He sounded as though there was a weight upon his shoulders that could have been crushing him down into the ground that seemed to be so inviting to me.

"Help me!" he cried and I felt it. It felt raw like glass, slicing at the skin on your arm, with the soft sickly red blood dripping in a calming way down your pale flesh.

It was sickly and red. It felt like raw pain, cutting and tearing.

I looked forward to him, lunging in my strides so that I would reach him, not daring to look anywhere else in the moment in case I couldn't find him again.

Red was a good way to describe him in that moment.

Sick would not have been a way of describing it. Sickly was on my mind but I did not settle upon it.

I rushed forward more towards him, moving myself so that I fell to my knees beside him, feeling the hot soil sliding beneath me.

Wounded seemed as though it fit better in my eyes but I couldn't bring my mind to think that about him in this moment.

I knelt beside him and closed my eyes for a moment.

Gavin.

A friend, a good friend who has been here so long.

Too long.

I opened my eyes in a moment to gaze upon him with stinging eyes, looking him over as my friend. Seeing nothing but the truth, which I did not want to see.

The only word to describe him is dying.

The red blood seemed to be soaking into the ground that lay around him, drawing lines with the thin trickle that lay within the soil. I reached to him, touching with my bare and dusty hands into the thick liquid that was quickly staining itself onto the edge of his collar.

I ran my hands over his chest, feeling as though there was a part of me being ripped out, for there was nothing I could do.

Nothing could save him, not even a miracle from heaven would undo the damage that had been done.

I looked into his eyes and he gave me a feeble smile that showed me the blood that was rising out of his lips, staining his teeth with a rosy red.

I tried to give a feeble smile back, but I could not force the look upon my lips in that moment.

I felt numb in an odd way. As though the entire world had frozen itself it a shell and the moments in time had slowed themselves down for me.

Enough for me to look into his eyes too see that pain and feel like I was being ripped apart.

"You will find something," he began, and his hand moved in a slow a feeble way up to guide my hand into his, grasping and clutching into my fingers.

I have never seen him shake; I could feel my own fingers trembling in the moment of pain as I looked into his eyes and saw it all.

Like a ghost, floating up in his eyes and into the sky he left me. Like the cold snow of home raining down on my the ash fell like snow and it reminded me of him, as I held onto his hand in a desperate attempt to hold onto him.

His body drew in one final breathe, and I squeezed onto his hand as I watched him let it out in one final breath that seemed to take all of his energy. It flowed out of his lungs like a river, leaving his fingers in a sticky mess that was being covered in the snow of war.

I looked at him and I found it hard to draw in my own breath, everything seemed to be coming up to speed and things were falling down around me again. My lungs seemed to ache with a throbbing pain, pounding with the ringing noise of the shells that were flying around the sky.

I gave his hand one final tug with my fingers and they seemed to just slip out of my own, and they fell from my clutches down into the sand that was below, coating themselves in the tiny grains, soaked with his blood.

I had to push on, I had to get up and run from this place, get myself to the safety of the choppers that were waiting for us in the distant field. I had to get up but I felt so weak in the moment.

Pain seemed to be rippling through my limbs, coursing through my veins and soaking me to the core.

I fought it, I fought it and I pushed against it to the point I was shoving against that sand with my unsteady feet to raise myself up to a standing position.

I pushed against the stabbing feeling, against the blurred vision and swimming head, knowing that I would get help, I would escape this. I could escape this.

Foot after foot seemed to fall as though everything was slow again. I was not fast enough for the bullets and they seemed to fly around me. The noise was deafening. The screaming of bullets and civilians rang through the air constantly with the sound of fire and the sound bombs.

I wondered if I would ever get this picture out of my head, the sound, the feeling of terror.

I ran and it grew stronger, the pain grew fiercer, cutting through my legs with everything that it had and I didn't know what to do. Nothing seemed to be working.

Like running through quicksand, laced with blood and war I found that I couldn't move. I was stuck running and there was no motion around me until the fires lit.

Like a slap, and a stab, followed by ripping and then the unquenchable flame.

Burning.

I was on fire.

I was running through the graveyard of the war and I was burning up.

I was burning and I was no longer running.

Falling.

I was falling in an unquenchable fire that seemed to be licking its way around my body. The pain until stabbing into the back of my shoulder until I was taken by the gravity of the scene.

Then it hit me, the second shell.

Jagged movement mirrored with the pain of fire seemed to rip and tear at the flesh on my body, digging into the bone of my shoulder and heating the moment like hell was roaring inside of it.

I could feel each muscle tearing, ripping and slicing itself in half.

I could feel it like a million needles being stabbed into my spine all at one, something I had never imagined.

Like the moment of falling I was soon to be drowning. I clutched breath; it was not leaving my lungs as I began to fall. But then as though all at once it was rushing out of my lips and I could not feel any more.

I couldn't feel it, as though the pain was turning to ice and making me numb again.

The sand grew closer, hot and fiery it was growing closer.

I could feel the warm trickle down my back, sliding down my spine through my clothes.

Panic filled my chest as the sand closed around me; I was hitting the ground as the shells and ash continued to surround me in the field of pain. I could feel my eyes beginning to close on my own and there was nothing I could do about it. I had no choice in the matter about life in this moment.

I just knew I did not want to give up, I didn't want to lay in the field forever, I wanted to get up and run to freedom, to a place I could call home, to a friend who would last and never die. Find someone to spend my life with, someone who can smile at me and who amazes me.

I want to find the place I am truly happy, somewhere where I feel alive.

I forced my eyes open in a final attempt to make myself rise, despite the fact that my entire body is numb and my heart beat is pounding in my ears, slowing with the pumping blood that is leaving my system.

I look through the ash and the blood that is wiped on my brow, through the smoke and the shells into the field beside me and then I feel the wind.

I see it, like a giant wasp rising from the field, with its rotors beating like giant wings in the desert.

The lump grew in my throat as I realised that the chopper was leaving the ground, touching off the blood soaked earth and growing into the sky.

The sting of ash and tears find my eyes, the lump in my throat beginning to choke me as I gaze about the field with my lazy eyes. Dead bodies and fire are the things that rise from it to my eyes.

I have the feeling I know that I am next. I don't understand what I have done to deserve this.

I squeeze my eyes tightly together, clenching my fist as I do so, feeling the pain in my shoulder intensifying with each motion.

My voice is hoarse and I cannot hear it over the sound of the helicopter, rising above me like an angry wasp with the sounds of war filling the background.

I hold onto my hollow shell, knowing I will keep searching for my safe and happy harbour.

I don't want to die today.

I want to fight on, do well and live with a love.

I swallow hard for a moment.

"Please god, let me live." I beg in a voice that no one hears and then I feel the darkness is starting to lick about me. I feel its cold fingers are starting to clutch around me, holding onto me, touching me with ice through the burning pain.

And amidst all the pain there is a sweet bliss that soon follows. Sickly like the leaking blood, the darkness takes me away from the heat, and the cold, and the pain, so that I can finally rest my head.

He looked at me with a quizzical gaze and I looked back at him without moving, he seemed to be looking at me in a pleading way, head tilted to the side, with DI Lestrade standing to the side and looking to me as well.

He licked his lips in a snapping motion, as though completely unnecessarily, he held his gaze and moved to be looking closer to me. Holding onto my eyes with a questioning expression.

"Really think about it" he said, and I could hear the pleading tone in voice was returning as he held the gaze. I stood before him, feeling only the tiny wavering of my balance as I held my folded arms tighter to my chest, unsure of where exactly he plans on taking the conversation.

"If you were dying," he began and I felt it, his words were not harsh, but I could feel a small sting of them.

"If you were being murdered, what would you say?"

I hold onto his intelligent eyes as I think for a second about the answer to the question. The room is filled with the near silent rustling of the officers who are searching the flat for DI Lestrade and it seems to be in an odd tone of hush for what should be noise.

I blink back to myself as I realise what I would say if I was dying, feeling my eyes grow coarse as though I am about to cry, though I know I shouldn't.

"Please god, let me live." I say, in a quiet, measured and a tiny bit hurt voice as I hold onto his eye contact. He blinks in a furious manner, the way he does when he is searching for information, looking for a fix or an out.

He seems frustrated in himself as he leans forwards again; pushing for the information he desires to fuel the fires of his mind.

"Oh come on," he says in an ordinarily Sherlock tone. But I hear the pleading that is laced deep within the words, begging for me to play the game.

"Use your imagination," he says, swaying back on his feet after completing his sentence, his eyes still locked on to me.

I feel the hurt that has bottled itself up inside me and I look at him in a blunt manner.

He looks to me, pleading his way into making me talk, with his eyes that could be boring into my soul.

"I don't have to." I say, my tone measure but feeble. I sway back on heels as he sways back from me. I can do nothing but look at him, he looks at me and is taken back, a small pain forming in his eyes as he sees the closed off stance I have put myself in.

He looks into my eyes and I can feel the trauma playing on them, as though dancing like a movie for him to see.

Last words are something I never wanted to say, and I never want to say again. Because I always want to keep living on, I never want a final goodbye.

A/N

I was bored and I was writing, what is new.

If I feel like it this will get another chapter, but that is a maybe. Possibly from the other way around, with a made up scene in it, so Sherlock's last words, just to kill you all a little bit.

Reviews are always appreciated for me, and I do have a one-shot about john if you like that.

I will Update soon if I can and Goodnight! (Hahhahha, 8am)


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